"I wonder why she'd wanna do that," Gabriel mumbled. He had to mumble because his stomach, the stomach he didn't have, was abruptly twisting itself into knots. Even though he was currently thirty feet underground, Gabriel still wished he could throw up ... even knowing that doing so probably wouldn't help him feel any better.
Only getting away from Sanguine would do that.
And he couldn't get away from Sanguine.
The images rolled under him and the Archangel went rigid without meaning to, clutching at Sanguine painfully tight. In the enclosed space, surrounded by the bubble of Sanguine's magic, there was nothing--absolutely nothing--onto which Gabriel could latch to keep himself steady. Not even the atoms in the earth itself, tainted as they currently were.
And Sanguine had a very good imagination. An imagination more than good enough that, while he relish over the images in great detail, Gabriel experienced them as if they were his. As if the razor was in his hands. As if he felt the blood on his face. As if he felt the almost erotic pleasure at the taking of a life himself.
Something inside him rebelled in horror and revulsion. His wings beat just as they hit stone and it burst before them; Gabriel couldn't be sure who was responsible for it, except that both their magic had been brought to bear. At least, he would know it afterward. Right in that moment, the very instant there was room, Gabriel shoved himself away from Sanguine, his motions rough and panicky. He stumbled a few steps away and then collapsed against the wall, sobbing and shaking and dry-heaving--still with images of gutting Valkyrie whirling in his head.
Door locked or not, the Archangel was in no condition to go anywhere.
~~~
"You may suppose," Solomon said dryly and with obvious amusement, and automatically reached for his cellphone before pausing. Something flickered across his face before it settled on impassiveness. "Ah. Yes. I left my phone in my apartment. High Priest Tenebrae wouldn't stop calling me."
He'd have to get a new one. And maybe he should go to get his weapons before he ate, in case he ran into someone. Then again, if he ran into someone anyway, he wouldn't be in any condition to fight them off. Yet if he waited too long, they were sure to be waiting for him.
The sorcerer looked at O'Reilly, his mind turning over. Slower than he would have liked, but he had good reason to be having a few problems putting things together. He needed food. He also needed to get back to his apartment as soon as possible. Finding a cafe at this time of day would set him back at least an hour, likely more. Therefore ...
"I don't suppose," he began, and his tone was matter-of-fact, "you have some food? I can't afford to waste the time to wait in a line in a cafe, but if the others were to find me at my apartment before I've eaten they'd almost certainly be able to kill me there and then."
Strange, how he could feel so calm about the idea of his own death. Frankly, he was just too exhausted to be able to worry about it right now. Perhaps there was also some resignation involved.
no subject
Only getting away from Sanguine would do that.
And he couldn't get away from Sanguine.
The images rolled under him and the Archangel went rigid without meaning to, clutching at Sanguine painfully tight. In the enclosed space, surrounded by the bubble of Sanguine's magic, there was nothing--absolutely nothing--onto which Gabriel could latch to keep himself steady. Not even the atoms in the earth itself, tainted as they currently were.
And Sanguine had a very good imagination. An imagination more than good enough that, while he relish over the images in great detail, Gabriel experienced them as if they were his. As if the razor was in his hands. As if he felt the blood on his face. As if he felt the almost erotic pleasure at the taking of a life himself.
Something inside him rebelled in horror and revulsion. His wings beat just as they hit stone and it burst before them; Gabriel couldn't be sure who was responsible for it, except that both their magic had been brought to bear. At least, he would know it afterward. Right in that moment, the very instant there was room, Gabriel shoved himself away from Sanguine, his motions rough and panicky. He stumbled a few steps away and then collapsed against the wall, sobbing and shaking and dry-heaving--still with images of gutting Valkyrie whirling in his head.
Door locked or not, the Archangel was in no condition to go anywhere.
~~~
"You may suppose," Solomon said dryly and with obvious amusement, and automatically reached for his cellphone before pausing. Something flickered across his face before it settled on impassiveness. "Ah. Yes. I left my phone in my apartment. High Priest Tenebrae wouldn't stop calling me."
He'd have to get a new one. And maybe he should go to get his weapons before he ate, in case he ran into someone. Then again, if he ran into someone anyway, he wouldn't be in any condition to fight them off. Yet if he waited too long, they were sure to be waiting for him.
The sorcerer looked at O'Reilly, his mind turning over. Slower than he would have liked, but he had good reason to be having a few problems putting things together. He needed food. He also needed to get back to his apartment as soon as possible. Finding a cafe at this time of day would set him back at least an hour, likely more. Therefore ...
"I don't suppose," he began, and his tone was matter-of-fact, "you have some food? I can't afford to waste the time to wait in a line in a cafe, but if the others were to find me at my apartment before I've eaten they'd almost certainly be able to kill me there and then."
Strange, how he could feel so calm about the idea of his own death. Frankly, he was just too exhausted to be able to worry about it right now. Perhaps there was also some resignation involved.